Brackish Panthers

By Maia Rebekah

Vince was grateful for his wetsuit, even though the frigid waters of the Potomac still stung as he rolled out of his boat that fated January morning. He gasped. Instantly, his bones began to ache.

I’m too old for this.

The sign plastered on a buoy read, “POOR VISIBILITY, STRONG CURRENTS.” The website had said visibility would be best this time of year, which was the only reason Vince was diving in the winter. He considered himself a fair-weather diver, but when he’d heard of the sunken WWII-era German U-boat resting in the murky depths just off the Chesapeake Bay, he’d determined the trip to be worth the freezing temperatures.

Down he dove.

The current was strong, but he’d mastered the ability to counteract the pull with his own movement. His flashlight cut through the black, and within three minutes, he glimpsed the U-1105, hairy as a sasquatch with aquatic growth. The conning tower and periscope jutted up and were soon joined by the anti-aircraft platform—called the Wintergarten—and what remained of the gun-mounts. Vince had to force himself to keep breathing, despite the spectacular sight laid out below him. He wished he could see the whole vessel at once, but his flashlight beam only reached about eight feet in the dark, muddy water. In the shadows behind the tower, he thought he spotted a flicker of movement. Vince chalked it up to a fish checking out the wreck, same as him. He could only hear the movement of his flippers, the occasional scrape of a line against his air tank, and the quiet roar of blood through his ears.

He checked his camera to ensure it was still recording, then proceeded around the wreckage. The hull, he knew, had once been black, covered in a prototype anti-sonar rubber called Alberich, earning it the title Black Panther. Now, it was greenish-brown and peeling. The Alberich coating had been groundbreaking in its day, allowing the submarine to prowl undetected through enemy waters. Sleek and stealthy, like its namesake. After the war, the Allies had prevented it from being destroyed with the rest of the Axis subs. It was only after years of testing that the United States sank it with a depth charge.

Considering the ship’s explosive demise, Vince marveled at its integrity. He ran a gloved hand over the intricate piping that ran along the starboard side of the tower. Algae and sediment burst into the already cloudy water, joining the particles kicked up by his flippers. Visibility crept closer to five feet.

Idiot.

He was about to continue his exploration when he saw it again—a quick, wriggling tail flicking in and out of the light as it sped by—a tail big enough to steal the last remaining warmth from Vince’s veins. Every muscle in his body seized. He’d heard of the occasional bull shark bothering Chesapeake Bay divers, but the likelihood of encountering one was slim, especially in January. That had looked nothing like a shark tail, anyway. This one was more reptilian.

He cast the light around in broad sweeps, cursing the filthy water for impeding his sight. His rapid breaths grew louder. Get a grip, Vince. It’s just a fish. But the more he tried to picture a fish that size, the more the darkness began to twist his imagination. Images of giant gators and marine dinosaurs crept in, increasing his panic. Every small movement stirred up even more bits of sediment. If only he could see!

A swell of water pressed at the back of his head. He turned as fast as he could, challenging as it was underwater. Again, the tail sped away from his flashlight. This time, he saw black, scaly flesh, ridged with Jurassic-looking plates, tapering into small translucent fins. The tail alone was thicker than Vince’s torso. It flicked up and down, mimicking the river waves as it swam. Vince slowed his treading, letting himself sink to the top of the wreckage. Thick, black clumps of debris swirled in the current, making the void look like an old, grainy silent film.

The visitor returned. This time, it wasn’t shy. The gargantuan reptile darted toward him from the black. Fins and whiskers sprouted from its head. Its mouth was closed, but Vince still glimpsed flashes of long teeth jutting from its maw. He screamed, releasing big bubbles from his mask. Before he could scramble away, the serpent rammed his stomach, forcing more air from his lungs. Just as quickly, the beast left, vanishing into the darkness. Vince wasted no more time. It may have been a mistake to leave the relative cover of the sunken ship, but he didn’t care. He had to get away. He kicked with all his strength, clawing for the surface.

The creature struck him again on his ascent, this time propelling him upward. He burst from the water, catching air before landing hard in his boat. He sprawled on his back, groaning.

The serpent reared above the rail and stared down, its black eyes glaring into Vince’s own. Its scales glimmered in the winter sun. Vince’s heart froze in his chest as the creature leaned in, bringing its massive teeth even closer. It snorted cold water onto his face, then mercifully turned away, returning to the water.

Vince leapt to his feet. The creature, who could only be the legendary Chessie, wove her forty-foot body between the waves: long and lean, like a black panther’s aquatic cousin. He ran a shaking hand over his brow as he watched her graceful retreat.

As his heart slowed, he chuckled. Could he have been the first to capture clear footage of Maryland’s cryptid? He reached for his camera, but the line attaching it to his belt had snapped. The camera—and its precious footage—were lost. He grinned, shaking his head. “Old girl must not like visitors.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Maia Rebekah is a fourth year Creative Writing student, an aspiring copy editor/proofreader, and a submissions coordinator for Havok Magazine. Her poems have been published in both The Scarab Magazine and The Allegheny Review. Outside of the professional realm, she’s a roller-coaster junkie who loves reading and writing Christian Sci-Fi/Fantasy, hiking, solving ‘Nancy Drew’ point-and-click mysteries, and listening to outdated Christian rock.

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